I arched my hips, lifted my pelvis to her hand. She gripped my shaft with her thumb and index finger stroking it up and down. We lay on our queen size bed she complained was too small.
"Let me cum!" I said.
My wife, Elise, was silent, slightly grim, the impulse of a smile at the corner of her lips. She concentrated. She didn't look at me. She watched my penis.
A few more strokes and she stopped, as if she'd been fanning a fire and the flames were high enough. She left her hand at the base, squeezing in a pulsing fashion, staring at the opening, waiting, feeling, I knew, for a sign that I was right on the edge. I wasn't on the edge but the edge wasn't far.
"Let me inside you." I said, not pleading, but affirming, a touch of command in my voice that I thought might appeal to her own submissive streak.
I thrust up, displaying the full length of my stiffness. I was obvious and self absorbed. Usually this kind display ended well.
We'd had our first cuckold experience a week before. She went out on a date with Robert. For the past two years we'd had regular discussions about actually doing it before deciding to actually do it. She'd contacted Robert who she'd met in a writing class three years before. He'd proposed an affair back then but my wife had said no at the time. They exchanged several emails. They talked on the phone for almost an hour and agreed to meet.
Their date went well. After a couple of drinks he invited her to his condo but she said no. Instead they kissed in the parking lot beside her car. "It's always good to make a guy wait," she said, "If a guy can wait. There's a better chance he's a keeper."
That night I woke her twice more to fuck after we'd already had a ravishing tear-your-clothes-off fuck when she first arrived home. But both times she refused. She pushed my hand away and said no. She wanted to sleep. "Hold me," she said. "Snuggle with me." Our small bed made snuggling natural.
I'd fantasized about being submissive to a woman for years. Elise was leery when I told her I'd like us to have a female led relationship where I submitted.
"I don't think I'd like that. I like strong men," she said.
For years the subject came up regularly. We talked about ways she might enjoy playing the role of dominant. When I told her about cuckolding she said,"you know I might like that especially with a dominant man."
Now she'd done it. She'd left me at home and gone off to a date with another man and kissed him.
It had been a week since that night. The memory still buzzed in me, unsettled, a mix of anxiety and excitement, that couldn't be relieved without her touch. I was sure of that and she hadn't touched me since that night. At least until now. But her hand had stopped. She was just squeezing at the base of my shaft.
She held on and began talking,
"I haven't told you how much I enjoyed Robert's kiss. He kissed me just they way I like it. Not too forceful, not too light, slow but easy, meeting halfway but enough so that I had no doubt how much he wanted me. But I knew that from...and I haven't told you this; he was hard. He rubbed it against my thigh right there in the parking lot as we kissed. I couldn't ignore it. I reached down and wrapped my hand around it through his jeans as we kissed. We broke our kiss as I squeezed him. 'You're a very, very big boy,' I told him. He liked that."
I stewed. My cock bobbed around in a small semi circle as she spoke, her hand still gripping just the base. I made little upward thrusts but caught nothing but air.
"Say something," I said.
She ignored me and started stroking again, concentrating on my penis with an unusual focus, quickly bringing me to the edge. I lifted, humping upwards in little jerks, getting there. Finally the fire bell went off. My semen came rushing out. A quick spasm and one long spurt arched up and out and onto my belly.
But Elise had let go. She laughed, delighted. She watched my penis spurt once more then gurgle up a milky white fluid as she leaned back on her heels.
I groaned. My orgasm, launched, but deprived of the fuel of her touch, immediately crashed, muted, in a false start, a failure.
She folded her hands in her lap with veneration. I gripped her thigh. I reached for her smooth cleft which she had waxed the day before her date with Robert. She pushed my hand away.
More cool distance. But it wasn't distance. She'd been distant with me in the past, early in our marriage. We'd fight and not speak for a day, maybe two. I held my ground. She did the same. But this wasn't the same.
Still, I needed her to complete the hand job.
"Please," I said. "It's been almost a week."
"And it's going to be at least another week," she said.
"Why?" I said.
"Because Robert's asked me out on a date next Friday night and you need to wait," she said.
"You liked his kiss?" I said.
"I told you I did. I liked it a lot more than I thought I would," she said.
"He's a good kisser. He took me to the edge but I stopped him."
"Like you took me just now."
"Yes. I stopped him because I wanted more. I want the whole thing from him," she said.
"What's the 'whole thing,' you want?"
"I don't know. Not just a fuck. I don't know. It's something I want," she said.
Her hand fell away from my penis. She stood up. I started to sulk. I stopped though because I could have flung myself into self pity. She walked to her sink and began washing her face. My penis softened and laid down on its side, the little slit still wet with the cum of my ruined orgasm. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen and took the hamburger from the freezer and put it in the refrigerator to thaw.
As I watched her rinse her face I realized I'd missed her feelings. Had she not worried Robert might reject her? Or worried he'd hate her short hair or the bit of weight she'd put on since he last pursued her?
She'd had the courage to walk out the front door.
